Glasses Revised
by KiteTeraton
Summary: Like the title says. Check out Glasses for a summary.


Dutchy ran, his blonde hair flying wildly, his boots hitting the cobblestones. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back up with the back of his hand. Every so often he'd look back, and make sure that Specs was still behind him.

Specs was trying his hardest to follow Dutchy, trudging away at his heels. Dutchy would look back at him, and he'd roll his eyes good-naturedly, with a smile.

"Dutchy, if you don't stop and wait at the next corner, I'm going back to the lodging house!" Specs called out.

Sure enough, Dutchy came to a halt at the corner. Leaning against a wall, Dutchy removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose. He pulled out a handkerchief, spat on it, and started cleaning the lenses.

Specs watched Dutchy clean his glasses, fascinated by the way he carefully ran the handkerchief over the lenses. If someone so much as touched them, Dutchy was liable to get hysterical. Specs remembered one time all too well.

Specs had just entered the Lodging House. He'd found Snoddy dangling a pair of glasses over Dutchy's head. Dutchy's glasses. Dutchy, close to tears, was frantically trying to get them back.

"Snoddy, what're you doing?"

Snoddy turned and looked at Specs. He grinned sheepishly, twirling the glasses between his fingers. "I was just foolin' with him."

"Yeah? Well, don't. Taking someone's glasses ain't fair, and you know it, Snoddy."

"Yeah, I know, I…" He swallowed. "Yeah, anyway, here you go, Dutch." He held out the pair of spectacles for Dutchy to take.

Dutchy had thanked him, mentioning something about the glasses being important. Specs was curious, but he didn't press to find out why.

Specs continued with his effort to catch up to Dutchy, watching him care for his glasses. He'd never seen anyone so attached to a pair of spectacles before. No matter how reckless Dutchy was, his glasses were always his first priority. Specs thought it was a little strange, but reconciled with the fact that everyone had their little peculiarities. Specs was used to Dutchy's, as they often sold together. They'd pick up their papers in the morning, and spend most of the day with each other. Specs was good at improving headlines, and Dutchy was good at getting sympathy. It all worked out, and by the end of the day, they'd usually collect a decent day's pay.

Today had been a rough day, and even Specs had trouble improving the headlines. Ready for a break, they made it to the marketplace, where the scent of fresh fruit mingled with whiffs of candy and spices, enough to make even the most satisfied of men hungry again.

The boys looked around, examining the edibles. Dutchy walked over to a nearby fruit vendor, and gave Specs a sly look as he snuck a hand into the cart, pulling out a shiny orange. Specs protested silently, giving him a stern look, but Dutchy made a shushing motion at him, as if to say "trust me." Specs sighed, trying to turn a blind eye. Specs hated it when Dutchy didn't play by the rules. Dutchy would listen when Specs told him off, but when opportunity presented itself, he forgot everything. After years of living on the street, some habits just stuck.

Unfortunately, the vendor had chosen that moment to look up from what was promising to be quite a profitable sale.

"YOU!" he bellowed, his face turning slightly purple.

Dutchy made to run, but instead found himself pinned against the wall by two sharp fists. His spectacles fell to the ground, from their perch on his nose, with a soft clatter, muffled by the sounds of the street. "Specs!" Specs watched helplessly as Dutchy jerked around violently. "My glasses! Specs, pick them up!"

Specs watched the man push Dutchy against the wall, and Dutchy trying desperately to get himself free. Specs didn't want to interfere. After all, the man could easily put him in the same situation as his friend. Nevertheless, watching Dutchy look so hopeless was more than Specs could take. He gathered ever ounce of courage he had, and edged closer to the vendor. "Leave him alone, man!" he shouted in a voice very unlike his own. The man turned to Specs, sneered, and pushed Dutchy harder against the wall. Specs started to regret ever walking over, and the man, fuming, seemed determined to ignore him. The man grunted, and his hands drew closer to Dutchy's throat. Specs swallowed, trying to look calm and collected on the outside, though he certainly wasn't on the inside.

"This is between me and this thieving little…"

"I said leave him alone."

Specs' voice frightened him a bit. He's never spoken like this, so sure of himself, hard and forceful. Specs took careful steps towards Dutchy and the vendor, and saw Dutchy turn blindly in his direction, slowly recognizing the familiar (but sharper) voice.

The vendor relaxed his grip on the front of Dutchy's shirt. They stayed like that for a few moments, not moving, until Dutchy coughed, his air supply running low. The vendor loosened his grip completely, and went back to his cart, as if nothing had happened. Specs, drained from the experience, rushed over and placed a hand on Dutchy's shoulder. Dutchy squinted, and took hold of the hand as Specs helped him up.

"Dutchy, are you all right? I thought--"

Dutchy suddenly snapped back to himself.

"My glasses! Specs! We have to find my--"

_Crack._

The sound of glass snapping, wires bending. Specs winced as Dutchy's face fell.

"_Christus_..." Dutchy swore under his breath, punching the air. "That was them, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"_God Verdomme_." He ran a hand through his sun-streaked hair. "What am I--Specs, I don't got even another penny to spend! How'm I gonna get--"

"Shh. Dutchy, we'll figure somethin' out. It's gonna be fine."

Dutchy slumped down, his back against the wall, and buried his head in his hands. "No, it's not. Those were my father's glasses, my last connection to what I guess you'd call a home." He stared as people walked by, trodding on shards of what once used to be a pair of spectacles. "And now they're gone."

Specs just looked at him, his expression pained.

"I...I didn't know."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah..."

Feeling useless, Specs knelt down and picked a twisted piece of wire off of the ground. He handed it to Dutchy, who moaned softly.

"Thanks." He mumbled after about a minute, and got to his feet again, shoving the wire into his pocket. "Damn it...Specs, I can't see." He blinked in the morning light, and stretched out his arms, feeling out his surroundings. Specs knew how the world looked when he took off his own glasses: wavy and unfocused. It was odd how a place so familiar could suddenly feel so strange – much like the way new feelings towards a familiar friend could suddenly feel so strange, he thought. He watched Dutchy fumble around, and reached out a rough hand to him.

"I'll help you."

Dutchy accepted the offer cautiously, and gently placed his hand in Specs's.

As they walked down the crowded street, Specs felt a sudden warmth wash over him, and not because of the afternoon sun. He had responsibility. Real responsibility. Dutchy was depending on him. Dutchy trusted him. Those thoughts ran through Specs's head, over and over. Specs liked it. He squeezed the pale, inky hand he was holding, and Dutchy squeezed back. He was kind of glad that Dutchy couldn't see him, because he was smiling, like he'd never smiled before.


End file.
